If You Miss the Train I'm On
by katbybee
Summary: FINISHED! Inspired by a song; thanks Hedy West. Johnny on a guilt "trip." Gets a little help... Characters are OOC, BE WARNED. R/R. Thanks, Dianne! Tweaking Johnny's age was her idea, and I'm running with it! Don't own 'em, they'd be in a heap o' trouble if I did ;-) Usual useless disclaimers...REWRITTEN MAINLY TO EDIT A/Ns, NO REPOSTING.
1. 500 Miles Away From Home

Chapter One-500 Miles from Home

February 10

Muttering to the guy across from him, John Gage rambled more and more incoherently. "It's my fault, y'know, Stoker bein' dead. If I hadn't tripped over my own damned feet _again, Mike'd still be here, p_ robably makin' love to that damn engine of his! S'bout all he does make love to I think. Whoa! Things're gettin' foggy in here…Thass some good sh—"

Recognizing the noxious odor, the conductor frowned down at the dark-haired young man passed out practically at his feet on the floor of the Observation Car; and then at the blond man grinning up at him sheepishly from behind his guitar, the newly-rescued joint perched precariously in his left hand.

Ex-Chief Master-Sergeant turned Conductor Ferris ran a tight ship, and he was **NOT** amused. " **Put it out!** " He roared. Quickly, the other man did so, as Ferris warned the blond, "If we weren't in the middle of nowhere, I'd make you _walk_ …and if it were strictly up to me, I'd throw you off and make you walk anyway!"

He pivoted on his heel and stomped down the aisle and out of the car. The blond was checking on the kid just as another man with a riot of dark curly hair flopped down next to him, protesting. "Hey, what gives? It was my turn!"

Seemingly unconcerned, the blond grinned. "Yeah, I know, but Ferris showed up and ruined the party—right after the kid here passed out. He's okay, but there's something eating at him bad. I could only catch bits and pieces, but he's in a bad way."

"What, like, sick?"

"No, more like, I don't know, feeling guilty about something. I thought at first he was our guy, but I don't think so. He's way too young…our guy's supposed to be late twenties at least. This kid isn't much more than 20, I think. He was already half in the bag when he dropped down beside me and grabbed the joint out of my hand…had to be, 'cause one good toke and he went out like a light. If I hadn't caught it, he probably would've set his shirt on fire! Then where would we be?" Hutch flipped back the long ponytail that was _really_ starting to bug him…he HATED undercover work!

Starsky laughed, "Yup, where's a good fireman when you need one?"

Neither man noticed the tears sliding down Johnny's pale cheeks.


	2. When You Hear the Whistle Blow

Chapter Two—When You Hear the Whistle Blow

February 7

Mike's POV

Okay, high-rises are just a bad idea. Period. I hate 'em. All fire-fighters do. Especially above the seventh floor. Because we all know you can't effectively fight The Beast above the seventh floor. And even then it's damned hard if it's got any kind of lead at all. And this one, all 12 floors of it had a lead—a big one; and vics trapped, above seven, naturally. Plus, I had a really bad feeling about this one…and I hate it when that happens, because, unfortunately, I'm usually right.

Cap made the assignments, and I started charging hoses. Big Red was in prime shape, almost eager, as if she knew what was happening, and was just as anxious to fight The Beast as we were. I could feel her flanks quivering with excitement as the pressure built in the hoses and the dials and gauges all began to reach their proper settings. There is something awesome and…well, _unsettling_ about having all that power at my fingertips sometimes. Gage used another term one time, and I almost punched him in the mouth—It is NOT like being with a woman and having an—ooooo-kay not the time, not the place! Damn him! I turned as Cap ran over to me hollering something about Gage. Figures. I groaned because that bad feeling came back with a vengeance. We cannot, _**cannot**_ lose that kid! Not after all he's been through just to stay with us!* Not now, _**not**_ if I have anything to say about it!

Cap's POV

The only good thing about this fire is that it's not a chemical factory. That's it. Otherwise, we're screwed. Gage was bringing the last vic down a stairway, which apparently collapsed under him, He handed off the vic to Marco, who charged out the door with him. Then all hell broke loose. Thank God the others had gotten out safely. Except for my dumbass engineer. Yup. You heard me. Stoker. Charged into that damned inferno without saying a word to anyone like a crazy man. Not the first time he's done this; probably, _hopefully_ , won't be the last…ahhh, Mike, you idiot…Come on, then get your asses out here! That's an order, damn it! McConikee puts a hand on my shoulder without a word. He knows…He—knows. Knows the fear, the anger, the heartbreak—everything we—as leaders—can't let show; and I don't. In the minute or so that has passed, I have shouted orders to men who don't need them—for support, search, rescue (Please, God!) or recovery (Not that God, anything but that, God!)

Mike's POV

Contrary to popular belief, fires are mostly _dark_ and hot. And smoke. God, the smoke! I can't see a damned thing in here! Breathing is tough, even with the mask. But at last, I see him. Gage is trapped under part of the stairwell. Unfortunately, it's a pretty damned _big_ part. I use the crowbar I have with me to start moving debris aside as fast as I can. It's gotta be a grab and go—not good for Johnny, but I have no choice. At last, I free him enough to haul him out from under the pile. Hardest part turns out to be freeing his left boot from the riser that had cave in underneath him. He cries out in pain, but there's nothing I can do. I haul him up onto my shoulder and turn, preparing to move out, quick. I make it to the porch, and toss Johnny down the stairs. There is a sharp whistling sound, and suddenly the world…just stops.


	3. You Will Know That I am Gone

Chapter Three—You Will Know that I am Gone

Johnny's POV

I am driving like a maniac. I know this. I get it. I really do. So sue me. I'm careful; I won't hit anyone. If I pile myself into a damned tree—well, right now, that's just fine with me. _I killed him_. I just killed one of my best friends. I heard them call the time as I walked out of Treatment 3. How is it I only got banged up again, and a sprained ankle, and Mike is dead?! I mean, because of my boots, I can even walk okay. Doesn't even hurt much. The scrapes and bruises on my ribs hurt like hell, though. And that's good. They should. I hope the pain never stops. Because one of us needs to hurt. Forever.

And then I did something I have never done before in my life. I walked out. I mean it. I just—left. I freaked out, I guess. I grabbed a cab at the stand and got back to the station in about eight minutes. Changed in about two minutes. And I drove away…and here I am. Driving like a maniac…because I am a murderer. I killed Stoker. Images run through my mind as I drive, mostly of Mike and Big Red. Hell, he probably _would_ have slept with that damned engine if he could have figured a way. He is—was—so quiet, I don't know if he ever got any action. He never talks—damnit!—talked about it. Course, not that I can brag much, but I do anyway. That's what made him so much better than me…he didn't always hafta make himself the center of attention. He was just…the best. Him and Roy. And me, always just the "kid." The one everybody has to look out for, the clumsy one, the one who's still _growing_ , for God's sake! Here I am, barely 21, 6'2" and Brackett says maybe 2 or 3 more inches to go! Are you kidding me?! When schoolkids walk up to me and say, "Hey, mister, I wanna be a fireman when I grow up," half the time I wanna tell 'em, "Me, too, kid!"

Roy's POV

They told me later Junior bolted from the hospital. I didn't see it, because I had ridden in with Mike and was still in with him at the time. God, Mike fought! He fought hard, but time just wasn't on our side. I couldn't believe it when Brackett looked up and shook his head. Dixie, with tears ruining her mascara, started turning off the monitors, and Brackett called the time. It got eerily silent for a few seconds, and I heard feet running up the hall. God help me, I did something _real_ unprofessional then. I lost it.

I started yelling at them to turn 'em back on, that no way in hell was he dead! I even started chest compressions on him. I guess Brackett was afraid I'd blow a gasket if anyone tried to stop me, because nobody did. I guess they decided "What the hell, humor the lunatic; because Dixie even bagged him for me. I guess Brackett had them turn the monitors back on, because Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee— "Damn you, Mike! Michael Stoker!" I yelled "Wake the hell up!" –eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—Inspiration suddenly hit. "Mike, come quick! Some asshole just t-boned Big Red!"—eeeep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Brackett's mouth dropped open, but only for a second as he began to act.

"Okay, people , we've got him back…"

The room was a flurry of activity after that, getting him hooked up to the respirator, and making sure he was ready to move to the ICU. That's when I left to go find Juniorand the guys. That's when we discovered my partner had gone AWOL. And he has no clue Mike Stoker is alive.

Mike's POV

Okay, Roy just said WHAT?! OWWWWW! Damnit, my chest feels like a gorilla's been slinging luggage all over it!** What's everybody so excited about? Wait a minute…Big Red? T-boned? I gotta get outta here! Only—Where is, where am I…why—uh-oh—I know that smell—Rampart! I'm in a room and I can't talk, I can't move…must be some damn good drugs they've got me on. Besides, I realize after a minute that Roy is a terrible liar. Always has been. If Big Red was hurt, I'd know it. Oh, he's gonna _pay_ for that one, _believe_ me! I don't even wanna try opening my eyes. No way, nuh-uh. I had a weird-ass dream about…What? A giant table? And smelling coffee? Really, really _great_ coffee! And lotsa guys like me sitting around shootin' the breeze, tellin' stories. In uniform. All kinds of uniforms—fire department uniforms. From all over the world. And I suddenly realize something…there are guys here in uniform from way in past history clear to the present. San Francisco, Chicago, Hiroshima, London, Galveston, Mexico City, everywhere! Oh, my God, there's Chief Dennis Sullivan!*** I recognize him from his picture at the Fire Academy! And these guys are exchanging stories about fighting The Beast, and about their families, and speculating about the boot—boot? Me? Me. Oh, crap!

That's about the time my old Chief, Chief Scarsdale, gets up from his seat and introduces me to the guys at the table. I look around, and spot four very familiar faces…the guys who had been closer than brothers at my old station…the reason I try real hard not to get too close to anyone. It still hurts that we lost them in that fire. At least with Big Red, I know if she gets banged up, Charlie and his guys can fix her back up. Nothing can easily take her away from me. So, I guess I do feel it's safer to love her instead of people. That's when the gorilla starts stomping around, and I hear Roy DeSoto losing his mind. DeSoto? Huh. Who'da thunk? OUCH!

Johnny's POV

After awhile I slow down and take stock of where I am. Some rinky dink town in the middle of nowhere. Judging by the gas tank, I've been driving a couple of hours. The only thing of significance in town seems to be a truck stop and a train depot. I'm not at all hungry, but—a train? A plan forms quickly. I can't go back now. I bought a one way ticket as far as it would take me… for some reason I pick Miami. Don't wanna go north… Had enough of the cold.

Besides, maybe I can reconnect with who my people _really_ are down that way. Just because I lived on the res in Montana didn't mean that's where my people were originally from…besides, it's kind of fitting to go back where I really come from, for what I have in mind.

I spotted a liquor store not far from the truck stop. I considered my options, and decided to smuggle a bottle on board the train. Fortunately, I always carry a duffle with a change of clothes with me, so hiding it wasn't a problem. I figured it was gonna be a long, boring trip, and I'd much rather face it hammered. Besides, who really gave a damn anymore? If they threw me off someplace before Florida, I'd just hitch a ride. Yup, just me and old Jack…what a pair. That mission accomplished; I sat down to wait for the 8pm arrival. I must've dozed off, because the next thing I knew, the arrival was being announced, and it was time to head up to the track.

I have to admit, the size of the train kind of threw me at first. I hadn't been on a cross-country train before, and didn't really know what to expect. That sucker was BIG! Two levels…the conductor looked at my ticket and sent me upstairs. It took a bit to get oriented, but the lights were low, and it wasn't crowded. I found a seat at the back. No one was around me, which was good. The conductor took my ticket and placed a green slip of paper above my seat. Guess that makes it mine. The conductor was busy elsewhere, and he had mentioned our next stop was three hours away…guess me and Jack can get down to business…I pull out the bottle and take a healthy slug.

Aloud I say, "Adios, amigo! Mike Stoker, you were a helluva guy! The only guy I know whose love life actually stunk worse than mine."

I slammed back another couple swallows, then realize I have a problem. How the hell am I supposed to get hammered when I'm crying so hard I may choke on the damned booze?

Febuary 10

Chicago, IL

Johnny's POV

Chicago?! Really? Huh. Didn't know you had to go that far to go to Florida. Weird. Ah, well. Might as well hunt down another bottle while I'm here. Got a long wait for the next train. City of New Orleans…cool name for a train. I just thought it was a song…Still can't believe we got hung up for nearly nine hours yesterday because of a mechanical failure. Hadda wander around a while before I found what I was looking for. This time Mr. Jim Beam joined the team 'steada Mr. Jack Daniels, but it's all good. Whoa, my plan of stayin' kinda hammered musta worked, 'cause it's a little hard to focus.

Fortunately, unlike yesterday, my body is cooperating pretty well. I can't vouch for my mind. Not going there. The next train is announced. Same routine as before, and I soon find myself in a seat in the back corner of the car. This one is a bit more crowded, though. After a while, I realize nobody cares what anyone else is doing, so I manage a few pulls off the bottle and manage to relax…to forget for a little while what I'm doing heading south on a train…heading nowhere at all. A couple of hours later, I decided to stretch my legs, so I wandered down to the Observation Car. Not surprisingly for this time of day, it was empty—almost—except for a big, scraggly, blond guy, with a long ponytail. He was sitting on the floor towards the back of the car, holding a guitar strapped over his shoulder. He looked up, staring closely at me for a moment. It was what he held in his right hand that held my primary interest at the moment. Don't ask me why I did it…recklessness, stupidity, don't know, don't care…I sank down across from the blond guy, grabbed the joint from him, inhaled deeply…and promptly started babbling like an idiot. I should know better. It's why I generally don't do this…well, that and losing my job—yeah…my—and everything sot of faded out; and I am gone.


	4. Not a Shirt on my Back

Chapter Four—Not a Shirt on my Back

December 10

Hutch's POV

Have I mentioned how much I hate being undercover? I feel grimy in the jeans and long-sleeved shirt I've worn for the last two days. Having to travel all over the damned country by train looking for our guy kind of limits our luggage and laundry options. I have a feeling we're close, though…real close.

The worst part, by far, is this stupid pony tail. I mean, I don't mind my hair being a little long—even a bit shaggy—but this is ridiculous! It was NOT my idea. It was either let my hair grow out for six months or wear a wig! No way was that happening! So here I am with a ponytail creeping halfway down my back. And it's driving me nuts! Starsky just added a light beard and a bit of a mustache, which, once I got used to it, doesn't look half bad…he kinda looks like that Serpico guy on t. v. – not that I'd ever tell him that! He's big-headed enough as it is!

Fortunately, it took the Fibbies and the Department almost a year to set this whole thing up, so I had plenty of time. At least this wasn't as bad as the last time the Fibbies got us involved undercover! I don't think we're ever gonna live that one down. Starsk and I just agreed _never_ to talk about it…ever.

I turn my attention back to the kid across from me. He looks to be in pretty rough shape. I roll him onto his side after checking him out. He seems okay, just completely wiped out. He smells like a distillery, though he doesn't look as if he makes a habit of it. He's clearly exhausted and definitely looks haunted by something; after this long I can tell a drunk from somebody just hurting. What really bothers me now is the thing I had mentioned to Starsky a few minutes earlier. This guy is _young_. Just a kid, really. Lying on the floor, he doesn't even look much over 18.

I wondered what the hell happened to cause him to melt down in the first place. He's tall and really skinny, but I get the impression he's very strong; and that if push came to shove, tackling him would be like tackling a wildcat. I also realize he has spent a lot of time outdoors. About that time, Starsky reached over and picked up the kid's wallet, a rather thin black one, which had fallen out of his back pocket when I'd turned him on his side. Starsky's eyes widened in shock when he flipped it open. He looked at me, as serious as I'd ever seen him. "Uuhhh, partner, we have a problem."

Starsky's POV

I flipped the i.d. holder over to Hutch. He saw the gold shield and studied the card across from it. He looked at me in disbelief. "He's a paramedic from L.A.?"

I nodded. "This could get dicey. If we do make contact and the kid gets in the way, there could be trouble."

"Uhh, Starsk, his name's John Gage, and he's 21."

I realize something has to be off, and I know Hutch has done the math, too. We know something about the LACFD, and nobody even gets _into_ the Academy until age 21. But according to the i.d. he's been with the department for four years. Something is definitely weird here. We needed to talk to the kid ASAP. I grabbed his shoulder to shake him awake and instantly realize my mistake.

Johnny's POV

…And in an instant I'm back and totally sober—in full fight mode. Somebody is grabbing me and I struggle to fight off the attacker, catching the guy full in the face with my fist. I am bodily held down as things begin to come into focus around me. The blond guy with the pony tail is sitting on my legs and holding my shoulders, yet speaking softly to me, telling me to calm down, that I'm okay. I relax a little, unsure of why I trust him, but I do.

Looking around, I see the other guy, the one I hit, leaning against the wall with his head back, pinching his bleeding nose. The blond grinned at the other guy. "Nailed you a good one, huh?!"

The dark, curly hair riots all over the place, as he nods ruefully. I realize he reminds me of Chet as I close my eyes, the pain of it all just too much. Obviously, these two are friends, so now I feel ridiculous.

The blond moves away from me and over next to his friend; and both simply sit quietly for a few minutes. The silence makes me nervous, so I finally straighten up completely up, and stare at the two of them. They seem to be considering me closely, and I don't like it.

Starsky's POV

I realize the situation's gonna get out of hand real quick. The kid's eyes narrow at us. Hutch notices, too, of course. He nods and since we are still alone in the Observation Car, I start talkin'.

"Okay, John, here's the deal—"

"Hold on! How—"

"Your i.d. wallet fell out of your back pocket when you passed out. We checked it out. We had to know if you were our guy or not."

"What the hell are you talkin' about!" Now the kid is mad.

"Cool it a minute, and I'll explain. Look, me an' Hutch, here, are cops.

The kid's eyes widened, then he smirked in disbelief. "Right, an' I'm Flip Wilson!"

This kid was beginning to get on my nerves. He'd already punched my lights out, and I was about to return the favor. I roll my eyes.

"Just shut up a minute and listen!

"My name is David Starsky, he's Ken Hutchinson. We're undercover Homicide Detectives for the Bay City Police Department. We've been traveling all over the country for the past three months looking for a serial killer. He leaves out of LA,on the train, killing seemingly random passengers. We know we're getting close, and we're supposed to meet a possible witness on this train sometime tonight, but our witness is from Chicago, and not LA.

John very calmly looked me right in the eye and asked me, "So how do you know I'm not your killer? I have murdered somebody, y'know."

I gotta admit, he had me there. I glanced at Hutch, totally at a loss. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. Yet, my instincts are good on this stuff, and I just _knew_ he wasn't our guy. I could tell Hutch was tracking my thoughts, too.

Hutch starts to ask a question when a shot suddenly rings out. Hutch grunts in pain as his left arm blossoms brilliant red. Blood flies everywhere as he drops heavily. I grab John and pull him down as more shots fly around us. I tell him to stay down, which was automatic, but John was already crawling over to Hutch. The shots stop abruptly, as I check on my partner. He is conscious, but in a lot of pain.

I watched John yank off his shirt, using it for a tourniquet around Hutch's arm. He then starts checking his pulse and respiration, in full paramedic mode. Apparently, the kid knows his stuff. It is been quiet for a couple of minutes, and Hutch and I look at each other in grim realization. Our "witness" was our guy. We had been suckered. And we fell for it. And he is long gone. I swear, muttering under my breath, until John gets my attention.

"Starsky, hand me my duffle." I did, and he yanks a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels out of it. He pours some of it on Hutch's arm, causing him to hiss with the pain. John does a little probing, under Hutch's intense protesting, and pales visibly. He looks up at me and I read the panic in his eyes loud and clear.

A/N In case you're wondering, there is no mistake on Johnny's i.d. He did have to recertify as a paramedic, but _my idea_ is that the department, due to the extenuating circumstances, allowed him to officially retain his four years of previous service to the department. For original concept, please see Dianne's "Time to Stop Running."

A/N: First, thanks to those who are intrigued by this story! You have no clue how great that makes me feel. I love all the warm fuzzies I have been getting for this and for the other story I have posted!

And to the reviewer who wants me to change the POV style here and doesn't seem to care for the style of some of the character's "voices,"

I chose to get directly into the character's heads, which may not always be what would come out of their mouths on a prime-time t. v. show; _especially_ Mike—who barely talked at all, lol!

I _did_ warn you the characters would be OOC.

I am not here to make the boys act like they do in other writer's stories. What fun would _that_ be? There's room in this big ol' sandbox for everyone to play!

I _like_ POV stories. I'm sorry if I confused you, but this is a mostly a first person story. Some third person is essential to the story. I will attempt to be careful with my tenses, but, I enjoy working with various POVs. I have all sorts of stories floating around my beady little brain (not all POV)…Watch for the Starsky and Hutch POV story involving the boys going "undercover" ;-) in a _very_ embarrassing situation! Promise it soon! Hugs to all!


	5. Not a Penny to my Name

Chapter Five—Not a Penny to my Name

 **Johnny's POV**

I looked up at Starsky. "We gotta get this bullet outta him, _right now_. If we don't, he's gonna bleed out." I'll say this. Starsky paled, but trusted me, and never argued. "Do I go find a doctor?"

"No time! It's not legal, but…"

Starsky gave me a hard look "Screw legal! Can you do it?"

I took a quick breath and looked at him. "Yeah. Yes, I can." I decide this is probably not the time to tell him the only time I have ever removed a bullet alone was back on the res, when I was 13. Some idiot had deliberately shot my German Shepard, and I had removed the .22 shell myself, as no one else would. Ghost made a fine recovery, which is more than I can say for her assailant's pick-up. I had used my .30/.06 on _it!_

These thoughts ran through my head as I began doin' what I could to save Hutchinson's life. The bullet was in fairly deep, but I was pretty sure I could get to it. I always carry my hunting knife with me, and it's sharp enough to shave with. Sewing him up was gonna be a problem, though. I sent Starsky quickly around to gather up any sewing kits or thread he could find. He hit the jackpot with a lady in the next car, who had a package of dental floss _and_ a sewing kit with her. That would do nicely until we could get him to the next town, and proper medical care.

Starsky paced like a caged tiger while I worked. I can understand that. I know that's how I would be, if some stranger was workin' on Roy, while I had to stand by and just do nothing. I was sweating profusely, despite the cool temperature in the Observation car. So was Starsky, for that matter.

I reached into my duffle and started to tear my last remaining shirt into strips, when Starsky stopped me. "Wait a sec, he said, "Got somethin' that'll work better."

He reached into Hutchinson's backpack and handed me a flannel shirt. "He'll be pissed, but you can tie this stuff better. He's done it for me before." I raised my eyebrow at that, but Starsky only smiled slightly, his eyes sad. I also realized that somewhere along the line, Starsky had gotten his jacket, and placed it under Hutch's head, for a pillow.

At least I was able to assure Starsky that his partner would most likely make it. I think that was the first time he actually sat down for just a few moments. He took one of Hutch's limp hands in his. "Ya gotta quit scarin' me like this, babe! When the hell're ya gonna learn to duck, Blintz?" As I continued to work, I smiled, but my own memories threatened to overwhelm me. I knew that these two, like Roy and me, have been through Hell together.

I finished with Hutch, thankfully still unconscious. I covered him with my own jacket and was about to suggest moving him to their sleeper compartment, so he could rest…hopefully Bay City hadn't cheaped out _that_ much!

"Listen, you better go let that conductor know we're gonna need medical help when we get to the next town."

Starsky nodded absently and got to his feet. He suddenly looked at me with a puzzled frown. In dawning horror, he breathed, "Ferris!" His eyes widened with sickened realization, and he spun away and ran like a bat out of hell up the aisle. He was back in a matter of minutes, his eyes hard and cold.

"I found Ferris. Shot in the head with the same gun that bastard used on Hutch."

For a moment I was confused, and then I realize the horrible truth. The final shot I heard must have been the guy shooting Ferris at the other end of the Observation Car, on his way out of the train. Starsky searched the entire train and found no trace of the gunman. As they had both suspected, he did find evidence at the door of the Observation Car, where he figured the man had probably jumped from the train, right after the attack.

 **Starsky's POV**

Right then, I get mad. Mad as I've ever been. Death had come lookin' for my partner once again, and I hadn't done a damn thing to stop it. Sat there. And now somebody else is dead, because I can't catch this guy. And Hutch is shot to hell. Again. I hear a groan from my partner as John finishes stitching and pours more booze on the wound. And just like that, my partner is awake and in awful pain. I glare and John, who stares back at me, frustrated and defiant.

"I didn't have any real anesthesia!" Gage defends himself hotly.

Hutch grimaces, and snags the bottle from John, nearly dropping the pint bottle in the process. He glares back at _me_ , taking a healthy swig from the whiskey. "Easy, Starsk. He did the best he could. At least I'm still breathing," my ever-logical partner points out. "Pain, I can live with. Lead poisoning, not so much." He smiles weakly, and I want to shake him, but I am so relieved, I can't help but grin.

As John rummages around in his duffle, a look of annoyance, then anger crosses his face. "I don't believe this!"

"What is it?" I asked him.

"My wallet! It's gone! Everything, cash, credit cards, id, all of it!"

Hutch frowned…thinking. "What about your train ticket?"

"Nope, that's right here." He indicated his left back pocket, opposite his id folder.

I asked, "When do you remember having it last?"

"Before all this happened. Back at my seat. I changed my shirt in the head, and—"here he slaps his forehead. "I forgot to take it with me! Probably somebody 'liberated' it while I was gone! The reality of his situation seems to hit him all at once, and he slumps back against the wall. The chill of the wall brings him forward suddenly; aware for the first time he is bare-chested. He reaches back into his duffle and pulls out a red calico shirt and puts it on.

I try to reassure the guy. It's just a wallet, after all. Everything can be replaced. "Hey, it's okay. We'll just wait till we get to the next town, 'cuz we gotta get off anyway, for Hutch. You come with us, call some of your firemen friends for a little cash, report the loss to the local cops and your credit card people, and bingo, you're back in business! Huuh?!" My perfect plan apparently didn't sound so perfect to the kid.

He goes off like the Fourth of July, shouting angrily, just as the emergency brakes begin slowing the train. I shut the kid down, and begin to race to the front of the locked car. Obviously, the shit is hitting the fan, and I need to control who gets plastered.

 **TBC**

A/N Since I now realize all these notes are being gathered at the end of my story, I will attempt to organize them in a manner which makes sense by the time the story is finished. Please bear with me.

To the _guest_ reviewer who is _still_ concerned with my using POV, and feels that POV really _only_ belongs in novels, (since in short stories, there is no time to familiarize yourself with the characters [?]) I would respectfully point out that a) All the characters on this _fan_ site, other than o/c's _should_ be familiar characters. If they are not, that is not my issue. b) I am not a novelist, nor do I desire to be one at this time. If SS/POVs are not your cup of tea, I respect that. c) Since this issue seems to be one that really bothers you, and you choose to post Anonymously, so I cannot contact you directly, I suggest you go ahead and find another type of story or author that better suits your needs. Many thanks to all my reviewers who constantly keep me challenged, and force me to raise my standards ever higher! Hugs!


	6. Away from Home

Starsky ran to the front of the car, and unlocked it. He met the conductor and the security guards heading his way, and badged them before they had a chance to open their mouths. He knew their operation aboard this train was blown, anyway, and he needed to get the train moving so they could get Hutch to the next town. John had patched his shoulder up pretty well, but he needed real medical help.

He motioned for the two men to follow him into the observation car. He was prepared for their reaction to their downed comrade. He told them they would have to stop the train in the next town and get help both for his partner, and to get the body of the conductor off the train. This would mean a delay of at least five or six hours for the train, but there was no help for it. This was also when Starsky discovered that one of the passengers in the car in front of them had pulled the emergency cord stopping the train when he had discovered the Observation Car was locked. The passenger had seen someone jump from the car and had realized there was some kind of trouble.

Between the three of them, they worked their way throughout the train, calming and reassuring the passengers, and eventually made their way to the engine, where the engineer was waiting for instructions. They were finally cleared to proceed to the next stop, a town located about two hours away. The head conductor made the announcement to all cars that there would be an unavoidable delay in town, and that anyone with any connection difficulties should let the conductor know. This was standard operating procedure, and not the first time Starsky had heard it.

Since there was not much else he could do, Starsky went back into the Observation Car to check on Hutch. Johnny had convinced him to at least stay stretched out on the floor, but, as Starsky could have predicted, he was eager to be up and helping with the investigation. Therefore, he was restless and irritable, despite the pain in his shoulder.

Johnny spent the time watching over his patient, and trying mentally to inventory what he had lost when his wallet was stolen. He had carried more cash than he normally did, because of the situation, so that was one of the problems. He had stopped once before he left Los Angeles and drawn out most of the money from his checking account, which meant he had lost nearly $700. That fact alone had proved to him how badly shaken he was, since under normal circumstances, that amount of money would have never left his sight. He had also lost a credit card, but the limit on it was kept purposely low, since he used it only for emergencies. He would cancel that when he reached the next town. What hurt the most were the few photographs he kept in the wallet. They were the only link he had to his station-mates and to his past. There were a couple of photos of his family in there. He also had Chris and Jennifer's school photos. It might seem weird to some, but he felt like they were his family, too, and they treated him like an uncle. They were pretty much the only family he had left. He sighed… _had left_ …but not anymore. Maybe it was better the photos were gone.

They pulled into the station a little over two hours later. There was an ambulance and two police cars, as well as a county coroner's van there. The local police immediately took jurisdiction of the crime scene on the train, and Starsky was happy to let them. He simply asked that any information they gathered be sent to the BCPD to his attention. He gave him what information they required and left the scene once he and Johnny were released after questioning. Hutch had already been taken to the local hospital, and one of the patrol officers drove them there.

Vine Street Hospital was small, but clean and well-run. The staff was efficient and friendly, but professional. Starsky had to admit he was impressed. He was considerably less impressed four hours later as the uncomfortable green plastic back of the chair he sat in bit into his spine yet again.

He had heard nothing from anyone since he and Johnny had been dropped off and told that Hutch was in surgery. Johnny was particularly upset, since he knew that his impromptu surgery had removed the bullet, but still could have caused problems for Hutch, since it was not done under the best of circumstances.

~E!~

Starsky glanced over at the dark-haired paramedic, who was currently sprawled in the chair next to him, apparently asleep. What had happened? What had caused the kid to melt down the way he had? He was obviously very good at his job. He had mentioned something about killing someone. Had he lost a patient, somehow? Maybe a kid or something? Was that what had caused him to go off the deep end? Starsky sighed heavily. He had a lot of questions for the other man, and the lobby of a hospital was no place to ask them.

Almost as if he had become aware of the scrutiny, Johnny opened his eyes and blinked at Starsky. "Any word?"

Starsky shook his head. "We should be hearing something soon." Grimly, John nodded.

Almost as if they had been overheard, a doctor appeared from behind the double doors at the far end of the room. He reminded Johnny of Dr. Brackett, except that he had iron grey hair. Both men jumped to their feet, as the doctor removed his surgical cap.

Starsky asked, "How is he, Doc?" _How many times had he asked that question? How many more times would he ask it?_

Warm brown eyes crinkled as the doctor smiled. "Your friend is going to be just fine." He turned to John. "You were the one who took out the bullet?"

John swallowed nervously. He knew what he had done was not legal, and that he could still be in trouble. "Yes, sir. I did what I had to do. I didn't know how long it would be before we could get him to medical help."

The doctor nodded thoughtfully. John felt worse. The resemblance to Brackett was even more uncanny. "I see. Well, you did a fine job. He was lucky you were there. I know you were out of your jurisdiction, but you saved him a lot of problems…and if you had done nothing, he would have bled to death."

Starsky bristled. "I would never have let that happen, Doc!"

The doctor smiled again, as he held up a placating hand. "Of course, you wouldn't. I just wanted to point out that regardless, in this situation, what you did, even though you were not on duty, or even strictly legal, was the absolute right thing to do. And I plan on saying so in my notes. You should have no legal issues with your department at all."

Starsky was indignant. "Of course, he won't."

John's face suddenly lost all expression. "It doesn't matter anymore."

And with that, he turned suddenly on his heel and headed for the exit.

~TBC~


	7. Can't Go Back Home

**Starsky's POV**

I watched the kid storm out the door and turned to the doctor. "Thanks for what you did, Doc. But I better go after him. There's somethin' eatin' him an' I gotta find out what it is."

The doctor nodded. "Don't worry about Mr. Hutchinson. He will likely be out of it for a few hours. I would recommend letting him rest for the night before you try to visit him."

I nodded even as I pushed open the door. Hospital routines I am very used to, unfortunately. Me and Hutch both are.

I looked around the small parking lot, but saw no sign of Johnny. I spotted an all-night café across the road, and headed for it. I figured that was where he would most likely go, simply because there was nothing else open, and nowhere else to go except the train station. My guess was right. He was seated in a booth in the corner. I couldn't help noticing he had chosen a seat where he faced the door with his back to the wall. Same as I would have done. This kid is smart…and I was determined to figure out what was going on with him. He had saved Hutch's life. I won't forget that. I made my way over to him, and plopped down across from him. He ignored me completely. The waitress filled my cup, and I nodded to her gratefully. The coffee was good and strong… just the way I like it. From the look on the kid's face, I knew I was gonna have to open the ball.

"So, what's the deal?"

He eyed me suspiciously and his tone was slightly hostile. "What deal?"

I rolled my eyes. "You. You're a paramedic. You're good at your job. You're from clear across the country. You're not on vacation…you're running from something. So, what's the story?"

He flared, "Who says there's a story?"

I couldn't help but grin. "The booze you were putting away like water, for one. And the fact that you jumped in to help us out like you were born to it, for another.

Johnny snorted. "Just doin' what anybody would've. That's all. There's no story."

I stared at him for a moment. "Bull. Wanna try that one again?"

 **Johnny's POV**

Starsky's flat tone kind of took me by surprise. He is not going to let this thing drop. I sigh, not sure exactly where to start. Finally, I just start talking. I tell him everything—about the fire, and killing Mike, through the drive to the train, and the trip since then. He was silent the entire time, quietly sipping his coffee and leaning back in the booth, simply listening.

To his credit, he did not ask any foolish questions. He did not question my flight. But what he asked me shook me to my core. "So, you make a habit of running from your problems?"

I stare at him, anger stirring inside. "No, I don't. But I never killed anybody before, either."

"I get that, but, I don't think you killed anybody. It sounds like it was an accident."

I frown. "No. It was my fault. Mike was an engineer. He should never have gotten hurt."

Starsky laughed outright at that. "Oh, really? I bet he would have laughed you off the planet if he heard you say that. I know a few firefighters, including an engineer. He's been hurt several times on the job. You lookin' for a safe profession, bein' an engineer in the fire department ain't it."

Logically, I know he's right, but my heart isn't interested in logic right now.

I want to just get up and go back to the train, get to Florida…and finish what I came to do. But I know he'll follow me if I try right now. Starsky is that kind of guy. Stubborn and relentless. I stare at him mutely. I can't think of anything to say. But I do know, I will never go back. I can't. I will simply wait him out. He has to go back to his partner sometime. So, I lean back in my seat, and signal the waitress for a refill on my coffee.

I see by the look in his eyes that he has realized what I'm doing. Because he also settles back into the booth, staring silently at me. This could be a long night…

 **~E!/SH~**

Kenneth Hutchinson was grumpy. Which was really nothing new to those who knew him. But, here, in this one-horse town, with its one-horse hospital, nobody knew him. And the staff was just as grumpy as he was. Or so it seemed to him. He had awakened the morning after his surgery (which, as far as he was concerned had been silly and redundant, since John had done the job of removing the bullet) feeling distinctly out of sorts. Starsky and John were apparently off somewhere, and he was attempting to get breakfast. Which the head nurse was denying him. She had sent in lime Jell-O, chicken broth and weak hot tea.

"For a lousy _shoulder_ wound?" he thundered. "It's not like I got shot in the belly or anything!"

Archly, the woman positioned her face about three inches from his own. Frostily, she replied, "For _after surgery._ Now eat it, or starve. The choice is yours." And with that she walked away. She had gotten to the door when Hutch fired another round. He mumbled under his breath, "Battle-axe…. bedside manner of a porcupine!"

Nurse Stella Robbins was the mother of three teenage boys…and so her hearing was possibly more acute than many. _She heard every word he said_. She turned back to her patient with a bright and possibly deadly smile. "That's right, dearie. Get used to it!" And with that, she left him to his soup and tea.

Things looked slightly better a half-hour later when a pretty young student nurse came in to help him with his bath. She was kind and gentle, and he appreciated her efforts. He also felt much better once he was clean and shaved. As she began putting her things away and discarding the towels, Hutch peered at her. "You sure are a lot nicer than the old battle-axe that was in here earlier. The head nurse, I mean. She's worse than a Marine!"

The girl giggled. "She _was_ a Marine. For twenty years!" And with that, she rolled her cart out the door, intent on her next patient.

 **~TBC~**


	8. Crossroads

**The Diner**

 **Starsky's POV**

I realized we could be sitting here all year just staring at each other. The kid was obviously not going to talk. And I didn't have the patience to sit around playing games. I sighed. "Okay, look. You're broke. You need to listen to me. Why don't you come on back to L. A. with us. I know it's not what you want, but you cannot run forever. You have to face it."

John glowered at me. "No thanks. I've made other plans."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

"None o' your damn business. Just take your partner and leave me alone." He growled the words at me, but I sensed pain and desperation. Something flashed in his eyes, just for an instant. _And I knew._

"No, John. Not happening. You think killing yourself is the answer?"

He paled, but his gaze was steady. He never blinked. "Yes."

He was so matter of fact that I had no clue what to say.

The door to the diner opened and I was surprised when my partner, dressed in his grubby jeans and a green scrub top burst through the door, with gauze sloppily wound around his wrist where the IV had recently been removed…obviously by him.

He plopped down in the seat next to John. He motioned to the waitress for some coffee and grinned weakly at me. "What's up?"

I went into immediate mother hen mode. I couldn't help it. "What's up? What the hell are you doing out of the hospital, you idiot?"

The waitress brought Hutch his coffee, and he drained half the cup.

He smirked. "Doesn't matter. I'm out. Gotta get me a shirt, and then I'm good to go. Don't suppose either of you have a spare on you, do you?"

He took another, more careful look at John's spare frame. The man was thinner even that Hutch. Which was sayin' somethin', believe me. "Forget it kid, yours would never fit me. Ah, I guess I can wait. So, what are you two so avidly _not_ discussing?"

John stared at him. "What?"

"When I walked in, you two were sitting here like a couple of bumps on logs. Silent. So, it makes me wonder. What am I interrupting that is so earth-shattering?"

John clamped his jaw shut. Me? _I was done playing games_.

"We're parting company here. John has some unfinished business in Florida and we need to get back home. We've got things to do."

Hutch nodded. "That we do. I put in a call to Captain Dobey just before I came over here. He was not happy to hear from me so early in the morning, but he appreciated the update. He's still pissed with the Fibbies for yanking us out from under him." He turned to look at John. "I took the liberty of asking him to check on your friend Mike…discreetly. See if there are any warrants out in connection with his death, or in connection with you for that matter. He said he'd check it out and get back to me." He held up a hand against the storm that broke out in John's eyes.

"Now look, John. You need help. You can't keep just drifting around. You need to face up to what happened. And you don't even really _know_ what happened, do you?"

John glared at the both of us, saying nothing.

I figured this was as good a time as any for me to jump back into the conversation.

"Look, kid. Be honest here. Do you really want to die?"

He blew out his breath, and I could see the war playing out in his eyes.

Finally he scrubbed a hand across his face and sighed. "No."

"Alright. Then here's the deal. You come back to Los Angeles with us. We hafta regroup before we go after this creep again anyway. Maybe we'll hear something about your friends by then. If not, you call your captain when you get back home and square it with him, at least. Then you figure out what to do. Either way, you stop running. Deal?"

John shut his eyes for a long moment, and I wasn't sure he was gonna go for it. Hutch and I stared at each other, not sure what to do if he didn't. I was out of ideas, and I was pretty sure Blondie was too. Fortunately, John nodded tiredly. "Yeah, okay. Deal."

I grinned. "Now you're talkin'!"

All of a sudden, I looked around and it hit me. We had been in the diner longer than I thought, because it was broad daylight, and my stomach was growling. "I'm starved!"

Hutch grinned. "So am I. Let's get some breakfast!" He looked at John. "You want something?"

"Nah, I'm okay"

I shook my head. "Not gonna fly, kid. Even I can't handle what passes for breakfast on those trains. Eat somethin.' It's on me."

John glowered for a moment, but finally nodded. The waitress came back and we ordered enough food to put a camp full of lumberjacks to shame. There wasn't much left when we were done.

I took in my partner's appearance as we stood up to leave. "You look ridiculous, you know that?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, I know that."

John just shook his head at the two of us and we made our way over to the train station and the lockers where we had stashed our luggage. Hutch _really_ needed a different shirt.

 **The Train**

 **Hutch' POV**

John was quiet after we boarded the train west. I couldn't blame him. He was nervous about facing his captain and his future. We hadn't heard anything back from Dobey before we left, so I figured I would make another call once we hit Las Vegas. We has taken the southern route back, so we had a couple of days before we hit Vegas. That was okay with me because I could use the rest. My shoulder was still bothering me, regardless of the show I tried to put on in front of the other two. I knew I wasn't fooling my partner, but we had a job to do, so he was keeping his mouth about it, though he didn't like it.

I figured John wasn't buying it either, because he seemed like a pretty hard sell. He was a sharp guy…that was for sure. At least he eased up on the booze and settled down a little. I figured that was probably a good sign. He and Starsky seemed to hit it off pretty well. We played a lot of poker…and it turned out John was a worse player than Starsky. It was a good thing we were playing for toothpicks (Starsky had charmed a box off the lounge car attendant.) If we had been playing for money, John would have owed me his next six paychecks. He was that bad! Either that, or he was running a really good con. Which he could have been. I never could quite decide which it was. Anyway, the trip to Vegas was uneventful, and for that, I think we were all grateful.

We had an overnight layover in Vegas and we decided to take advantage of the fact and get a room near the station. A few hours sack time in a bed that didn't move sounded good… Besides, I could call Dobey, and hopefully he would have some news for John.

Dobey did me one better than that. John's wallet had been returned to an attendant on the Chicago train, and Dobey had it messengered to Vegas for him. The money was gone, but everything else was intact. He had gotten very, very lucky. Apparently, the Big Fireman in the Sky was looking out for him. And Dobey did have information for us about John and his friend Mike.

 **~TBC~**


	9. The Way Home

**Las Vegas, NV**

 **Johnny's POV**

I stared at the slip of paper in my hand. I looked up at Starsky. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, his eyes as serious as I'd ever seen them. He was telling the truth. Mike was alive.

I sat back in my seat. _Mike was alive._ Was back at work, even. I was having trouble processing the idea. Starsky must have known it, because he kept quiet, and just watched me. Said nothing.

After a while, I laid the piece of paper on the table between us. "You must think I'm a real jackass. All it took were a couple of phone calls from you captain to find this out. I could have done that a long time ago."

Hutch smiled sadly. "No, we don't think any such thing, John. You were hurting and scared. You ran. You had no way of knowing what really happened. Yeah, you should have stayed, but you didn't. Okay. The important thing is, you know the truth now. So, what are you gonna do about it?"

I ran my hand through my hair. "I could be in a lot of trouble for leaving the way I did, but I need to go home. I need to talk to Mike."

Starsky nodded. "Then, that's what you'll do. It'll be okay, kid."

"I hope so, man. I really hope so."

 **Starsky's POV**

I looked over at Hutch. After all the years we've been partners, he and I pretty much can read each other's minds and I knew he was thinking the same thing as me. He nodded and that's all it took. I knew he'd be making one more call before we pulled out of Las Vegas. It was gonna be hard enough on John as it was, and maybe there was a way to make things a little easier…

 **The Train**

We left Las Vegas on schedule, and Johnny was real quiet for the rest of the trip back to Los Angeles. I left him alone. I know Hutch pretty much did too. John told us he a lot to think about, and some decisions to make. He and Hutch had a long talk the night before we pulled in to L. A. but neither one told me much about it. Hutch did say that Johnny had been struggling with whether to stay with the department, which surprised me. For some reason it never occurred to me he wouldn't want to go back. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Guilt is rotten. And the more it eats at you, the harder it gets to shake. I know this. Anyway, John and Hutch talked, and I think the kid's gonna be okay.

It's weird. Johnny's really not that much younger than me. But he seems a lot younger…. Younger even than Nicky. Of course, my brother is young and selfish and stupid. Johnny is anything but stupid. I can't really put my finger on it. I know he really is probably younger age-wise even than Nicky, but there's just somethin' about him…. I guess it's because he's one of the least selfish people I've ever met… except for maybe Hutch. Maybe that's it. I dunno. Anyway, he's going back to L. A.—back to his friends, and back to the department. An' we're goin' back where we belong too. Dobey told Hutch the Fibbies pulled the plug on tryin' to catch this guy this way. They're gonna try somethin' else, but it won't involve us.

Helluva thing. Been tryin' for months, and we nearly got him. And now they shut us down. Almost seems a waste. And yet, if we hadn't been on that train, we would never have met John. And he just might have made it all the way to Florida…

 **Johnny's POV**

We're nearly there… Los Angeles, I mean. I don't even know what to feel anymore. I'm scared. What if I've screwed things up so bad that I can't fix it? What if—what if Mike hates me for what I did? I wouldn't blame him. I mean—

"Better shake a leg. We're comin' into the station." Starsky grinned at me.

"Yeah, I noticed." I had been watching the increasing number of tracks for the past few minutes, along with a variety of railroad cars. They hadn't helped my anxiety level a bit.

Hutch came up and leaned against the seat back across from me. He handed me a card with his name and number on it. "Look, John. Things are liable to get crazy in the station, so we'll say goodbye here. Keep in touch. You can reach us at that number. You need anything, we'll be there. Now, do you need a ride or anything?"

I shook my head. He had loaned me some money, so I had enough for a cab and a few meals till I could get myself straightened out. I shook their hands. "I'll be fine. Thanks, guys. You're lifesavers."

I held Starsky's hand just a moment longer and looked him straight in the eye, remembering the diner. "I mean that."

He looked at me with that lopsided grin and shrugged. "Eh, fuhgeddaboudit."

They turned, grabbed their duffels and were gone with the rest of the crowd. I sighed, picked mine up and headed for the platform.

 **~TBC~**

 **A/N:** This update is short because it is the last chapter of the story and will be followed by a short epilogue. Thanks for sharing in this, my first, albeit long journey, on FanFic. net. I am sorry it took two years to finish it … but I am proud of the finished story. I hope you have enjoyed the trip as much as I have.


	10. Epilogue: Home Again

**The Platform**

 **Johnny's POV**

As usual with trains arriving and departing, the platform was crawling with people. I didn't have any baggage to worry about, or anyone meeting me, so I decided to head straight for the cabstand. However, before I could put that plan into action, I was stopped in my tracks.

I dropped my duffel at the sight of Mike Stoker standing in my path, his arms crossed, his eyebrow lifted slightly. He said nothing for a long moment. Finally, he hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "I got my truck out in the lot if you need a ride."

I nodded. "Thanks. That'd be good."

Neither of us said a word all the way back to the station. I hadn't known what to say, and Mike, well, he was just bein' Mike. I hadn't realized we were headed to the station till we were most of the way there. He must have realized I was uncomfortable, because we pulled over just before we got there. He turned to look at me. "Look, John. It happened. Nothing can change that. We're family. Nothing changes that, either." He put his hand on my shoulder. "We're good."

And he put the truck back in gear and headed on into the station….and home.

 **~The End~**


End file.
